


Before Me, Beneath Me

by Alexandrite811



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Consort Bilbo Baggins, Fix-It, M/M, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-23
Updated: 2017-12-23
Packaged: 2019-02-19 03:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13114620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexandrite811/pseuds/Alexandrite811
Summary: After returning from his annual trip to the Shire, Bilbo has some things to tell Thorin.





	Before Me, Beneath Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bofursunboundbraids](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/gifts).



His travel pack was tossed upon the bed. He'd leant his walking stick against the mantle of the stone fireplace. Each movement was well rehearsed, practically routine by now. Even the quick exchange of cloaks was habit as he made his way to the open air of the open archway. 

He remembered the arguments during that first year of marriage. Thorin hadn't seemed to understand his need for light and air. They'd gone around and around about it, about logistics and safety, priorities and practicality. It had been exhausting, to be honest. Thorin had been even less impressed with Bilbo's solution of visiting Dale once or twice a month. 

Or maybe it had been the fact that he'd usually done so unaccompanied. 

And then one day, he had returned from a meeting with the Secondary Council to find the doors to what had served as their rooms barred. The guard at the door had seemed terribly amused at the Hobbit's confusion, beard rustling in way that Bilbo was coming to realize meant there was a smile somewhere underneath it all. Several gruff directions and three flights of stairs later, Bilbo found himself outside a new door. 

The door had been simple, if a bit oversized in the typical dwarvish fashion, and open. An open door with a gentle breeze flowing out into the hallway from a set of double doors against the far wall of the chamber. 

Thorin had given him a balcony. His hard-headed, stubborn, cantankerous dwarf had renovated an entire set of rooms, moved their living quarters, and carved out an arch way onto the very face of the mountain just to accommodate his request. 

Bilbo smiled, letting his fingertips trail along the railing of the balcony. It was a beautiful testament to dwarvish craftsmanship. The smooth, angular designs common in dwarf architecture filled the habitable space, fading further out until they blended back into the natural lines of the mountain. A perfect framework for the view that lay beyond. 

It was a breathtaking view, to be sure. 

The light from the setting sun was slowly gilding the world below in colors of crimson and amber. Shadows were deepening, stretching out long, lazy limbs to caress each curve and fill each crevasse. What remained of the late Autumn foliage cast the edges of that glowing world in a sheen of fire. 

Oh, not the brutal flash and burn of dragonfire, no. This world was draped in soft light, warm like the heat of a Winter hearth. It rippled over rocks and trees, hills and plains. The It danced along the twisting currents of the River Running and danced around the twinkling lights of Esgaroth. It flashed on glass and filled the sails of merchant ships at anchor. 

Dale glowed to the southeast against the velvety blackness of the Greenwood beyond. The gleam of windows and sentry fires washing over new and old stone alike. It's rebuilt walls and thriving population were testaments to the partnership of Dwarves and Men. 

Beyond that, if you looked hard enough, or imagined well enough, the range of the Misty Mountains could just be seen cutting along the edge of the horizon - rugged and wild as ever. 

And beyond that... well... 

The twinge was light when it came, a pang so soft and sweet that it had his lips curling wistfully as he brought his gaze back from the horizon. 

The world really did seem to spread out before him, laying itself out at the foot of the Lonely Mountain like a carpet of jewels before the feet of a King. 

And that... that was a thought best kept to himself, thank you very much. 

It wasn't that the pride of the dwarves was unfounded. Far from it in fact. The beauty of Erebor was both rugged and majestic. The dwarves built as they were - solid, powerful, and meant to endure. There'd been little time to appreciate the full extent of its grandeur at first. Madness, battle, and the extended residency of a Fire Drake had made it difficult to see beyond the broken pieces. Over time; however, that had changed. 

He took a great amount of pride in this kingdom of Dwarves. 

His kingdom. 

His dwarves. 

Still, humility was a virtue too seldom exercised by the race as a whole and, if he could not influence them in its execution, he could at least endeavor to protect them from further hubris. 

That's what he did, wasn't it? He smoothed over their rough edges and helped gloss over their blunt words. 

Bilbo closed his eyes against the fading light and breathed deep. 

It had taken him years, but now he took comfort in the brisk chill and crisp air. The wind was always fiercer up here than it was at the base of the mountain. There was a freshness to it - a sharpness that cleansed the mind and soothed the soul. It felt like tiny hands tugging at his graying curls; tiny, cold fingers tangling his hair, running along his skin, and seeping into his bones. 

Colder and harsher, he mused, pulling the fur cape tight across his neck and shoulders. 

"You've stolen my cloak." 

Bilbo fought hard to keep the smile from his face. It had been months since he'd heard that voice and the temptation to turn was overwhelming. 

"Have I really?" 

"Again." 

The amusement was unmistakable and he lost the battle against the smile, feeling it curve quickly over his lips. 

Heavy, wide palmed hands settled over the garment under dispute. It was unfair just how warm dwarves were able to stay in such an environment. Bilbo parted his lips to say exactly that and then faltered as the thumbs of those wonderfully warm hands pressed two firm strokes along the base of his throat. It was all he could do not to moan into the caress. 

"Burglar..." 

The gentlest brush of lips against the shell of his ear combined with the low tones he used to drag out the word had Bilbo shivering. 

"Consort, remember?" 

It didn't come out as strong as he would have liked, but the stumble at the beginning had only been slight. 

Then his breath fully stuttered in his throat as the cloak was whisked away and the cold mountain rushed to displace what warmth there had been. There was a quick snap and heavy swish of fabric behind him. Arms and cloak surrounded him as Thorin enveloped them both in the soft folds of the material, pulling Bilbo back against him in the process. 

"Hmm... I did take those vows, didn't I?" Thorin chuckled, tightening his arms. 

"Mmm." Bilbo agreed, perfectly content to simply curl back into the soothing warmth of fur and dwarf. 

It was an easy silence that settled over the two of them as the sun continued its descent. 

Many things in this world were simply meant to be savored. So many things over the years had brought joy to him over the years. He knew the simple pleasures of fresh baked bread, soft grass beneath his feet, a warm hearth on a cold night, and the music and laughter to be found in both meadow and mountain. As a hobbit, he took pride in appreciating each and every moment life offered as the gifts they were meant to be. 

However, nothing compared to the moments he found when he was in Thorin's arms. 

In the end, that realization had been the final deciding factors in so many of his decisions over the last several years. He doubted that would change over the next several. 

With that in mind, he tilted his head, took in what he could of his husband's profile, and pressed a lingering kiss to the underside of his jaw. 

"I missed you," he murmured into the edge of Thorin's beard. 

Thorin's arms unwrapped from around him, hands skimming down to hold tightly to his hips. 

"And I you, Ghivashel." 

Then Thorin's lips found his and Bilbo let his words fall away as he reacquainted himself with the taste and texture he'd gone without for the last few months. There was always a hesitancy to Thorin's kisses when he returned from his trips. It was as though he was asking, making sure that the liberty was still his to take. Even then, he could feel the tension behind it and knew all it would take is the right gesture to have all of it break over him. 

Raising his hand to caress Thorin's cheek, he pulled back and looked up into that well-loved face. Thorin's eyes were deep pool of black with a thin ring of blue lingering along the edge. Bilbo could feel his pulse jump at the recognition and forced himself to take a deep breath. 

"Frodo sends his love." 

The way Thorin's eyes softened at the edges and the gentle smile that curved his mouth only made Bilbo's heart thrum louder and he pressed a quick, chaste kiss to that smile. 

"You gave him mine, of course." 

"Naturally," Bilbo responded as though insulted. "All that I hadn't already claimed for myself anyway." 

Bilbo couldn't hear the rumble of laughter, but he could feel it. 

"Greedy hobbit," fond words whispered into his hairline, and Bilbo could hear the pleasure behind them. 

"A dwarvish trait, I'm thinking," Bilbo teased, turning in Thorin's arm to face him. "I've obviously spent far to much time among you all. Horrible lapse on my part, I admit." 

"Of course, Love." 

"It's through no fault of my own, I assure you." Bilbo replied haughtily, adding a sniff at the end just to watch Thorin's lips spread wider into a full smile. "You've all been terrible influences over the years. Why, I'm lucky my relatives even recognize me anymore." 

"I assume they managed, then?" 

"To be sure." Bilbo assured him. "In the Shire, I can be quite the gentlehobbit. A spot of gardening, afternoon tea, innocuous small talk, and a quiet pipe of an evening. I dare say, I managed to blend myself back in rather well." 

Thorin's hands tightened minutely against his Bilbo's hips before linking together securely in the curve of his back. 

"How was the Shire?" Thorin managed. 

"It was everything I know; everything I remember. The hills still tumble around each other and the paths twist about gaily between them. The matrons still gossip, the faunts still clamor for stories, and husbandry seems to always be the first topic of conversation at any table. Bag End sits where it has always sat - full of warmth, comfort, and memories. There was bread to be baked, laundry to be washed, relatives to see, and books to read." 

"Sounds.. pleasant.." his husband offered. 

Bilbo laughed. "It sounds dull. And you'd be right." 

Closing his eyes, he rested his head against Thorin's shoulder. 

"The same as it ever was and probably the same as it will ever be." Bilbo mused. "I left it just as it was when I came - with a few minor exceptions." 

"Oh?" 

Bilbo tilted his head just enough to let his lips explore the thick column of Thorin's throat. That tension Bilbo had felt from earlier was still there, pulling tighter between them. It was being felt through the slight tremors in the arms around him and the way each caress Thorin had given him was pressed firmer than the last - held longer than the last. 

"Mmm," Bilbo hummed in agreement. "From what I've experienced...", here Bilbo trailed off, his hands sliding up and over the rich material of Thorin's tunic. Fingertips pressing just a bit firmer than the rest of his hands, he pretended not to notice the light gasp that escaped Thorin as two of those fingers skimmed over his nipples beneath the shirt. 

"And I fully blame you for these un-hobbit like views," Bilbo accused, nipping briefly at a tendon. "After all, having rushed off into the blue without so much as a pocket handkerchief, to follow twelve dwarves and their cantankerous leader, I can't help but feel that change, every now and then, can be a good thing." 

A low groan was the only warning he got before his feet left the ground, those hands that had lingered at the small of his back, now cupped beneath his thighs. Lips found his, hard and fast and desperate. Fisting his hands into Thorin's thick mass of dark hair, Bilbo wrapped his legs firmly about the dwarf and used the leverage to arch his hips forward. The sudden pressure and answering hardness, left Bilbo breathless. He broke the kiss, drawing in air greedily. 

"Too long," Thorin panted, using his grip on Bilbo's thighs to press them together again and again. 

Bilbo couldn't help but agree and said as much between gasps and hastily stolen kisses. 

He'd had everything planned. He'd known just how tonight was going to go. Every teasing comment, every caress... 

Between the two of them, they'd managed to toss his carefully planned script for the night out the proverbial window; or balcony as the case may be. 

"Ghivashel," Thorin moaned, turning to stride toward the bedchamber. 

That decided it. 

There would be time later to talk, to tell Thorin of what he'd done. He'd explain how he'd left Bag End in the capable hands of Drogo and Primula. He'd describe Frodo's joy at the new toys the dwarves had sent. He'd detail every change of color that Lobelia's face went through when she realized what Bilbo had done. 

And, best of all, he'd watch with pleasure the realization when it finally occurred to Thorin what all of it meant. 

Bilbo paused to look down at his dwarf. Between one thought and the next, they made it to the bed. Thorin lay beneath him, hair spread out beneath him, pupils blown dark with desire, and lips parted. 

Who in their right mind would have any form of conversation with that vision before them. 

No, there would be time for all of that later. 

Right now, he had his own world spread out beneath him. 

Bilbo leaned to claim those parted lips once more. 

His world had had an excellent point earlier. 

It had been far too long...


End file.
